Mirror Image

“Hell, every marriage goes through rough spots now and then. Zee and I hope that you and Carole will iron out your differences, have another baby, go to Washington, and live to grow old together. Maybe this tragedy will patch up the problems you had and bring you closer together.

“But,” he said, “don’t expect Carole to change entirely as a result of what’s happened to her. If anything, it’ll take more patience to get along with her than it has up till now.”

Tate edited his father’s speech, picking out the pertinent points and reading between the lines. “You’re telling me that I’m looking for something that isn’t there, is that it?”

“I’m saying it’s a possibility,” the older man stressed. “Usually when someone has a close brush with death, he goes through a period of smelling the roses. I’ve seen it happen with pilots who ditched their planes and lived to tell about it.

“You know, they contemplate all that could have been taken from them in the blink of an eye, feel guilty for not appreciating their loved ones, and promise to make amends, improve their general attitude toward life, become a better person—that kind of thing.” He rested his hand on Tate’s knee. “I think that’s what you’re seeing in Carole.

“I don’t want you to start hoping that this incident has rid her of all her faults and left her a paragon of what a wife should be. Dr. Sawyer guaranteed to remove some of the imperfections in her face, but he never said a word about her soul,” he added with a smile.

“I guess you’re right,” Tate said tautly. “I know you’re right. That’s exactly what I was doing, looking for improvements that aren’t really there.”

Nelson used Tate’s shoulder as a prop as he stood up. “Don’t be so hard on yourself or on her. Time and patience are indispensable investments. Anything worth having is worth waiting for, no matter how long it takes—even a lifetime.”

They mounted and turned the horses toward the house. On the way back, they said very little. As they drew up in front of the stable, Tate leaned on his saddle horn and turned to address his father.

“About that trip to West Texas.”

“Yeah?” Nelson threw his right leg over and stepped to the ground.

“I’ll compromise. One week. I can’t be gone any longer than that.”

Nelson slapped Tate’s thigh with the reins he was holding, then handed them to Tate. “I figured you’d come around. I’ll tell Eddy and Jack.” He headed for the house.

“Dad?” Nelson stopped and turned. “Thanks,” Tate said.

Nelson waved off the gratitude. “Put those horses up properly.”

Tate walked his horse into the stable, pulling Nelson’s along behind. He dismounted and began the rubdown procedure he’d been taught to do as early as he’d been taught to ride.

But after several minutes, his hands fell idle on the horse’s rump and he stared into space.

He had needed her compassion and tenderness that night. He had wanted to trust the motives behind her touch. For the sake of their marriage and Mandy, he had hoped these changes in her would be permanent.

Only time would tell, but his father was probably right. It was wishful thinking to believe that Carole had changed, when her previous actions had shown her to be faithless and untrustworthy. He couldn’t give her the benefit of the doubt without everybody, chiefly himself, thinking he was a fool for trusting her even that far.

“Damn.”

Ten

“After that, we intend to send him up to the panhandle for a speech at Texas Tech.” As Jack detailed Tate’s itinerary to his sister-in-law, a fresh thought occurred to him. “You know, Tate, there are a lot of cotton farmers in that region. I wonder if Eddy’s considered having you speak to a co-op or something?”

“If he hasn’t, he should. I definitely want to.”

“I’ll make a mental note to have him schedule something.”

From her bed, Avery observed the two brothers. There was enough resemblance to place them in the same family, but enough difference to make them drastically unlike each other.

Jack appeared more than three years older than Tate. His hair, several shades darker than Tate’s, was thinning on top. He wasn’t exactly paunchy, but his physique wasn’t well honed, as Tate’s was.

Of the two, Tate was much better looking. Although there was nothing offensive about Jack’s appearance, there wasn’t anything distinguishing about it, either. He faded into the woodwork. Tate couldn’t if he tried.

“Forgive us for taking him away from you for so long, Carole.” She noticed that Jack never looked directly at her when speaking to her. He would always address some other area of her body besides her face—her chest, her hand, the cast on her leg. “We wouldn’t if we didn’t feel it was important to the campaign.”

Her fingers closed around the oversized pencil in her hand and she scrawled “okay” on the tablet. Jack tilted his head, read what she’d written, shot her a weak smile, and nodded curtly. There were unpleasant undercurrents betwee

n Jack and his sister-in-law. Avery wondered what they were.